Reasons why I shouldn't drink (cont.)

Waking up at 4.45am completely unable to get back to sleep. Seriously, it's like I have jetlag. At least the alcoholic hot sweats mean I'm not feeling the cold this morning. I still haven't used my heater this winter. I feel it's coming any day now. Because I'm up and about so early with the booze, I've taken a leaf out of my friend H's book. When she's had a night out she ususally can't sleep either and ends up doing the hoovering. Her poor neighbours. I've decided to use my time to make a dent in the laundry mountain that's built up over the exam period.

Wanderly Wagon and more...

I knew if I were patient that someone would someday upload it. And that day has come. Here we have the Wanderly Wagon opening credits in all their glory. Please try and tell me that the producers of the show were not tripping on acid when then came up with this title sequence. It's so funky - way trendier than I remember.

As an expat, I just love the 'Irish-isms' in this clip. Godmother is going shopping for the 'messages' and Mr Crow goes on about 'chak-a-lits'. Enjoy.



And seeing as we're going on a trip down memory lane, I feel I can't leave out the Brits - they had a huge influence on my development, too. How about some Trumpton?



Or Bagpuss?



Or Pigeon Street? Now with some twenty years of hindsight, I'm thinking Long Distance Clara might have worn her some comfy shoes!

Reasons I shouldn't drink alcohol...

105 days of sobriety. That's 15 straight weeks, people! Fall off the wagon. One and a half TINY beers in (not even 40ccs) and I nearly walk into a lamp-post!
And friends wonder why I don't drive...

Free at last

Today, I took what I hope to be my last ever exam in Japan. I mean, assuming I didn't fail, that is. I think it all went pretty well. But you never really know with a language. It's all so ambiguous and tricky.
Walking out of my final test, I expected to feel elated. To be honest, I just felt tired. But I did see a guy cracking open a beer and it inpsired me to fall off the wagon. I cracked open that first can and I don't think alcohol ever tasted so good. I then went and bought a really good bottle of Medoc. I fully intend to go nuts now that I'm back on the sauce. Just kidding - everything in moderation.
I'm looking on the booze as physiotherapy. My neck is offically banjaxed. I guess the last four weeks spent with a pencil poised in my right hand have done my shoulder muscles in. My neck now makes a disconcerting crack when I turn in certain directions. Here's hoping that a little yoga will sort me out. If not, I could be looking at an expensive transplant.
The other big news on my side of the world is that I quit my job. I had planned to give my notice in the new year, but it all happened really naturally in the end. I will still stay on for a few months yet, but big changes are in the works.
I have to say the day I told my boss I was leaving is when I felt real elation. I'm a little scared, of course. I have no idea what I'm going to be doing next year. But on the other hand, that's wonderfully liberating. I've opened myself up to the universe and I'm ready to be pointed toward the next stage of my journey.
I'm not going to worry about any of that heavy stuff for the minute. I'm looking forward to my brother coming to visit in three short days. After that, I'm heading home for Chrimbo. I think December is going to be great.
All in all, I will not be sad to say goodbye to 2006. With a few major exceptions (my sister's visit, my new yoga school, my birthday) it was a bit rubbish. I have a feeling that 2007 is going to be my year. I'm nothing if not optimistic slash deluded!

Setting down roots

I had my last ever Japanese class this week, at least at my current school. It should have been a melancholy moment, but it felt so good. And now I have just one more test to do next Sunday and I am free. Please send out all your positive energy for me on December 3rd.
I have a problem with what I want to blog about today. It's not exactly that I have nothing to say. It's just that the things I have in mind are such downers that I don't want to think about them.
For example, right now in Japan the big news is a terrible trend towards junior high school kids committing suicide. Last year, 115 young Japanese killed themselves. It appears most deaths were a result of bullying or exam stress. But to be honest, the topic makes me so depressed that I can't bring myself to analyze it.
Then I thought I'd tell you about the Japanese movie I went to see on Thursday evening. It was called 手紙 - tegami - The Letters. But it was also pretty depressing.
I had been looking for a nice light story to forget my stress. From the poster, I had thought it looked like a simple romance. I was so wrong. I came out ready to jump under a train and delay some commuters.
The film was about the discrimation and social exclusion Japanese families encounter when a member of their family commits a bad crime and is sent to prison. Heavy stuff.
I must say though, I'm still now thinking about the themes brought up in the movie, so it can't have been all that bad.
I would really like to know if the same discrimination exists in other countries. Tell me what you think: In your home countries, if a member of your family was imprisoned for murder, do you think you would be driven from your home, fired from your job, and denied the chance to marry your loved one? I just don't know.
Another thing the film has done is to motivate me to look out for more books by the same writer. 'Tegami' was based on a novel written by Keigo Higashino. It won the prestigious Naokisho literary award here in Japan. I'm thinking one of his other books will be my next challenge when I finish up the exams next week.
So if all the above aren't cheery enough, what's left for me to write about. Well not much.
The one thing I did find fascinating last week came up in a discussion in my last ever Japanese class. Do you know that in Japan, if you go and visit someone in hospital, you should never bring a potted plant or anything that's alive and has roots? This is incredibly bad luck and quite bad manners. It signifies that you expect the person to be hopsitalized for a long time. The image given is of them setting down roots in their sick bed.
Just another example of the choppy social waters I have to navigate daily. Who'd have thunk a nice Christmas cactus or something would cause such offense.
The irony was that only moments previous I had given the boss of my school a very elaborate potted plant arrangement as a token of my gratitude. I wasn't brought up in a barn! But in this case, it surely didn't cause offense. She was very happy. But it looks like I'm setting down roots in the blasted school. I tell you, if I fail my finals and have to repeat next year, I am never setting foot in a florist's again.
Quick youtube update before I go. My video of the cicadas is now up to almost 12,000 views. My sister's singing... 18!

Por mi madre

Mam, this is for you. I rememeber sitting watching this together and you crying with laughter. It brought back many happy memories. Perfect comic timing. Enjoy.

My future job

There was a programme on Japanese TV the other day. It was about the Japanese boom in France. The Land of the Rising Sun is incredibly popular with the French right now.

The show featured the third annual Japanese Expo in Paris. Young Parisians go there to pick up the latest styles in food, clothes, interiors, and so on.

From a Japanese (‘We’ Japanese) perspective, the French have got some of it horribly wrong. Hello, sushi with a side of white rice? Can you say ‘constipation’?

But other ideas offered a fresh slant on Japanese living. It was cool to see these chic ladies wearing traditional workmen’s cleft boots (地下足袋 - jikatabi - as pictured above) with their couture.

Anyway, the programme confirmed what I should do for my next career. I totally need to become a trend spotter for some think tank or high-flying consultancy or something.

What do you think was the hottest item at the Expo? What do you think all the trendy Parisians wanted above all else? What do you think I’ve been talking about since the inception of this blog? That’s right, the Japanese washlet / electronic bidet toilet, that’s what!

I’m so ahead of the curve. If the consulting doesn’t work out, maybe I can start a business importing and installing these conveniences in all the smart capitals of Europe. Anyway, want to go in on the business with me?

Smoke gets in your eyes

Japan is very smoker-friendly. Cigarettes are dirt-cheap. It costs about 2 Euro for a pack of twenty. You can find 24-hour automatic vending machines on most street corners. Most restaurants and cafes offer no-smoking seats, but there’s usually no barrier or special air conditioning system.
As and aside, I remember being in a café in Ginza with my brother years ago. I was in a no-smoking seat. The dudes beside us, being in smoking, held their cigarettes practically in our faces. Rent is very expensive so shops are often small and cramped. But come on!
All the above goes towards explaining why, in Japan, 48% of men and 12% of women smoke. This compares with about 25% for both men and women in other developed countries.
The Japanese government, looking at all the European countries that are turning smoke-free, is considering adopting a similar policy here.
They hope to bring the male consumption rate down to 25% and the female to 5 % in the next five years.
I think they’ve a long way to go to shift a generally positive attitude toward tobacco.
I submit for evidence the above photo. It was taken of a cigarette vending machine near my house.
In case you can’t read it, I’ve transcribed the advertisement. I really don’t think you’d get away with this ad in any other industrialised country.
And as a bonus, it’s another prime example of the ‘what-the-heck’ English in use over here.
Smoking is a good friend of mental activities.Being free and easy, your heart makes you enjoy smoking!A figure giving off a woman’s shadow,A figure being suggestive of vitality and joysAnd sorrows in businessAnd a figure of a man working hardAre all in enjoying smoking.

Crazy Interweb

You know, I just have to say that the internet is one crazy mixed up place.
Do you remember back when I wrote my first haiku that I recorded a short video?
I just pointed my digital camera at some trees and recorded the cicadas song. That's all it was - thirty seconds of green leaves and insect noise.
Well I have just been informed by youtube that that video has now been viewed 9,146 times!!!!
I mean what is going on? And I thought I was wasting my life away online. One poor sap has even subsribed to my account, preumambly in the hopes that I will come up with another such masterpiece.
Seriously, some people out there need to get themselves a hobby.
Oh and in case you were wondering, the video of my sister singing 'Bad Day' in karaoke has been viewed a grand total of 17 times!
Locusts, not humans, are clearly where the music market is going these days.

Dodgy English

Teaching English in Japan can feel like an uphill battle. Zoom in on the picture above. It's an example of the verbal knots students sometimes tie themselves in.
This photo is of a sign outside a restaurant not far from my house. I don't know how much foreign custom they get with that sign. I shudder to think what the menu must be like.
The scary thing is that, now that I've been here so long, and now that I speak Japanese, I totally understand what they're trying to say.
In the wrong hands, a dictionary is a dangerous weapon.

Lil Bro, ya sure ya still wanna come a visitin'?

Honestly, who would live in Japan? Last week we had a tornado that killed 9 people. Then tonight, there was an 8.1 earthquake up north and now the whole country is under a tsunami warning. It's lucky I live in the mountains!

Victoria Wood and Julie Walters

Watch this sketch. It's so funny.

"I never touch prawns - do you know they hang around sewage outlet pipes treading water with their mouths open!"

Thoughts of life, love and family

This is just going to be a stream-of-consciousness post. I haven’t felt the inspiration to write a proper story in a long time. All haiku production has ground to a halt. Basically, it seems my brain has turned to jelly now that I am in the middle of exam season.
This was proven yesterday when I totally spaced out on the time of my yoga lesson. I managed to arrive just on time. I followed the teacher into the room in a grey and black flash, hoping against hope that I hadn’t put my shorts on inside out or back to front.
Time keeping is incredibly important in Japan. I’m compulsive about it, as anyone who has visited me here will tell you. As a foreigner, I feel I have to be even more punctual than the Japanese. It’s like every time I’m late I’m compounding the ‘lazy, unreliable foreigner’ stereotype. That I would fail to be early for something was a clear sign of how head-wrecked and exam-fatigued I am.
Now don’t go worrying about me. It’s not like I’ve become such a dedicated and diligent student that I’m working myself into the ground. I’ve still been finding plenty of ways to skive off.
Last Saturday, I went to the movies. I saw 涙そうそう (Nada Sousou). It’s a Japanese movie starring Tsumabuki Satoshi, a popular young actor here.
The story is simple: A brother and his stepsister are left without parents. His grandmother on a small Okinawan island raises them. The young boy has promised his dying mother that he will look after his little sister. As he becomes a man he takes on the role of father figure. But the focus of the movie is the conflicting types of love they come to feel for each other.
Don’t worry, it’s not at all salacious. It’s a pure and moving character study.
The movie has lots of interesting themes: living for yourself versus living for others, the repression and expression of emotion, accepting or running away from responsibility. Simply put, it’s all about life, love and family.
There’s a beautiful scene at the end of the movie where the grandmother and stepsister are sitting on an idyllic, tropical beach looking out at the crystal ocean. The girl is upset and the granny talks about how we are each given a life. None of us knows how long we’ll be given. Some lives are long and others are short. It’s what we do with the time we have and how we touch the people around us that count. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
All in all, the philosophy of the movie matched very well with my blog motto. I highly recommend it if it ever comes to an art-house cinema near you.
Because I’m an expat and because my family and many friends are far away, I always seem to be overly affected by such emotional stories. Even a week later I’m still mulling over the ideas in the film.
To make matters worse, last night I sat in and watched ‘Billy Elliot’ on video. It covered much of the same ground, with a bit of ‘always be true to yourself’ thrown in for good measure.
So along with an addled brain I now have a punch-drunk heart. I’m a wreck.
I guess I should also give a quick weather report. I’ve complained often enough in these pages about how terrible the weather has been this year. Well for the last two weeks the weather has been glorious. Late autumn slash early winter is the best time of the year in Japan.
The sky is high, blue and cloudless. The air is clear and brisk. And a pale winter sun takes the bite out of the breeze. It’s a walker’s paradise. Coupled with the reds, browns and yellows of the changing leaves, I can honestly take back all the nasty things I have said about the Japanese climate. Mother Nature is being good to us once again.
Well that’s all for this status report. I hope I’ll be able to think of interesting things to say again when all the tests are over.

What's this ad for?

This is the next installment in our guessing game 'What the heck is this train poster all about?' Can you guess what this cheery ad is for? I bet you'll be surprised to know it's for...






HIV & AIDS testing.
I'm still puzzling over what they're trying to communicate to us. The message is basically that you can get a HIV / AIDS test for free at your local clinic. It's anonymous and quick and the results are completely private.
But what all this has to do with a cuddly cow hand puppet is a bit beyond me.
None the less, I'm very happy to see such an ad up in the trains at all.
In Japan, social issues like HIV / AIDS, drug use, sexuality, and so on are almost never spoken about. In fact, their existence is largely denied. Ask a passer-by on the street, and I bet most would say there were no people in Japan living with HIV /AIDS at all. I don't know the statistics, but I'm sure that the rate of infection is no different to any other developed country.
Maybe the idea of having the person dressed in the tradtional puppeteer all-black is to show that the issue needs to come out of the shadows, out into the open.
In short, the ad is either inspired or completely rubbish. I haven't decided yet.

Ukai Chikutei Japanese restaurant

Last week I had one of the best restaurant experiences ever. I went to Ukai Chikutei Restaurant in the mountains west of Tokyo.
It's a beautiful restaurant complex set in a bamboo garden. Each private room is like it's own mini cottage. Weaving around the twenty or so cottages are little rivers, rock gardens and carp filled ponds.
It's decorated in the traditionally simple and elegant Japanese manner. Once in your room, kimono-clad staff scurry back and forth to your cottage serving dish upon amazing dish.
The chef kindly prepared an all-vegetarian banquet for us. It was a feast for all the senses. The main ingredient was matsutake - a very expensive, rare mushroom. It's succulent and juicy with a unique aroma and flavourful essence.
Each dish was like a work of art. I was taken aback by a baked chestnut in a shell made from noodles. It looked for the life of me like a real chestnut shell. I could only imagine the great skill the preparation of such a dish requires.
But I'm a simple lad at heart. For me, the piece de resistance was an assortment of vegetables in miso sauce, grilled on a magnolia leaf on a small charcoal grill brought to your table. The flavour is with me now as I type. It was that good.
Everything worked in harmony. We sat in the tatatmi room, excited at the arrival of each new creation. In between mouthfuls, we gazed at the moss covered waterwheel or artistcally backlit maple trees outside our window. And in the background delicate shamizen music accompanied our feast.
And even though it's a posh and elegant restaurant, because you have a private room, you completely relax and don't feel at all intimiated or uncomfortable.
If you ever come to Japan, I can't recommend this dining experience enough.

Always label your containers!

A quick story that might make you laugh.
I'm determined not to catch cold again this year. To this end, for the past few weeks, I have been garlgling and cleaning out my nose with salt water. Basically you make a salty, body temperature solution and snort it. This cleans away mucus and germs or pollen that have attached themselves to your nasal cavity throughout the day.
Now in my house, I have two big jars. One is for salt and one is for sugar. They have different coloured lids but are not labelled. They sit happily beside each other in the cupboard. I think you can see where this story is going.
For the last three days, instead of cleaning out my nostrils, I have in fact been snorting snorting sugar. Or should I say diluted syrup!
I'm pretty sure this therapy is not to be receommended. In fact, I'm probably on the fast track to diabetes.
The moral of the story: Always label your jars.

Ore ore sagi

The other day, I got terrible news from my student. She was caught out by a type of telephone fraud prevalent in Japan. It’s a scam that plays on three elements of Japanese life: The breakdown of the family unit, the traditional deference to authority, and the great importance of saving face and avoiding scandal.
It’s called 俺俺詐欺 (Ore ore sagi = ‘I... I...’ fraud)
The stories that the crooks use change every few months, but the underlying concepts remain the same.
A mother receives a phone call out of the blue. On the other end of the line, a young man pretends to be her son. He starts the call in a muffled voice saying, ‘I... I... I’m in big trouble.’ You can see how the crime gets its name.
The mother often panics and doesn’t question an unfamiliar voice. You have to remember that young Japanese men are renowned for being taciturn at the best of times. In any case, if she does query how he sounds, he can always put it down to emotion or to having to speak quietly and not be heard.
On top of all this, the gangsters really do their homework. They use school yearbooks and city registers to find out names, ages, residences, and so on. It’s not that hard to be tricked.
Next an authority figure will come on the line, often a supposed boss or police officer or the like. A Japanese woman of a certain age is almost pre-programmed to respect and trust superiors. It takes a strong character to show too much suspicion.
The panicked woman is now fully primed. The crooks play their trump card. They say that if she simply transfers a certain sum of money to such and such an account, the whole matter will be forgotten. Thus her son will avoid any damaging scandal and her family won’t lose face in public.
The sum of money is not to be sneezed at. Usually it comes to about 2 to 4 million yen (about 12,000 to 24,000 euro). This amount is not chosen at random. It represents the maximum ATM transfer you can make over one or two days. Once again, the gangs do their homework and target people who would have such quick funds available.
Now my poor student is no idiot. She’s an intelligent, experienced woman. But unfortunately she fits the ideal profile for such a fraud. She’s rich. She’s of an age where it’s difficult for her not to respect authority. And crucially her young son lives away from home. Like many young men he’s very lazy about keeping in touch. She wakes up every day worrying about him. And because he never calls her, she has no real idea what’s going on in his life.
They spun her a doozie of a yarn. Her ‘son’ said he’d borrowed some money from his company to buy stock. He was sure it would skyrocket and he’d make a killing. He planned to pay the company back and no one would be any the wiser. But the share price never rose, his boss found out, and now he was in deep trouble.
The supposed boss then came on the line. He said the son had always been a good and popular worker. They didn’t want to let one rash mistake ruin his whole career. The boss said that if she quickly reimbursed the company, they wouldn’t report the matter to the police and that would be that.
Now I’m sure you are all in disbelief at this stage and have lots of questions.
Like why didn’t she just call him back on his mobile or home phone? Of course the ‘son’said he had to stay at his company and that his boss wanted to listen in on all calls.
Or why didn’t the bank query such a large transfer? The thing is, they did. But my student was terrified that the story would turn out to be true. In that case, the bank would have no choice but to report the incident to the authorities, and her son’s future would be in tatters.
Or even why didn’t the police just trace the bank account and recover the money? Simply, the crooks usually buy bank account information from homeless people who no longer use it. As soon as the money is transferred, they close the account and the only trail leads to a plastic tent in some park or under some bridge.
These criminals are ingenious. If only they could use their powers for good.
So what do you think? Could this happen in your home country? Or is such a fraud only possible because of a rare combination of social conditions here in Japan.
I’d like to end on a happy note. My student has shown herself to be a positive and resilient person. Out of the shame and embarrassment, she has found some good. On hearing the terrible news, not one member of her family criticised her. In fact, her son deeply apologised for having fallen out of touch and for having contributed to the incident. My student feels that, though she lost a tonne of money, the closer bond her family now enjoys is worth every yen.

A long awaited toilet update

It has been brought to my attention that I haven’t been blogging up my usual storm. Sorry about that.
My finals start next week and run until the big test on December 3rd. So Japanese has been crazy. On top of this, I had a bunch of yoga lesson tickets that had to be used before the beginning of November. So if I haven’t been working or studying, I’ve had to be in yoga. I hope that things will go a little bit back to normal from now on.
Japanese has been going pretty poorly. While everyone else in my class has seen their grades get better, mine have been getting worse. And this with me studying harder than ever. It’s looking bleak. Bleaker still is the fact that everyone in my school has received their examinee registration except me. Do you think the gods are trying to tell me not to bother, fall back off the wagon and just get sozzled until my bro arrives in December?
Having been so busy, essentials have falling by the wayside. By essentials I mean cooking, cleaning, laundry, that kind of thing. I’ve been eating out way too often, the dirty clothes pile is now taller than I am, and my flat is so dirty that I’m considering moving just to avoid cleaning it. If my bro were to arrive now, he’d have to choose between sleeping in the shower room or the toilet: the only two places that I’ve kept in order.
During my Internet silence, I’ve neglected to fill you in on so many toilet-related advances. Now is your chance to catch up.
Toto, the Mercedes Benz of conveniences, has gone all out. New toilet bowls are fully silicone-lined. No nasty business can stick to them... ever! They’re billed as the toilets you never have to clean. More exciting still, a new optional extra analyses your waste and prints out dietary and medical advice based on what you leave behind. Furthermore, this function studies your family’s patterns and modulates the electricity and water consumption accordingly. How cool is that! And what would all this set you back? A snip at 5,000 to 10,000 Euro.
Needless to say all their new toilets are fully automated. You don’t have to lift the lid or flush or anything. It’s all done by sensors. This is true of so many devices in Japan; doors, wash basins, ticket gates. It’s actually becoming a bit of a problem. Some scientists are trying to draw a link between the increased automation of Japanese society and the sky-rocketing levels of premature senility over here. Pretty scary.
So next time you see me, if I’m standing in front of a closed door with a confused look on my face, unable to use the door handle, I hope you’ll be sympathetic and understand my plight.

Figs

My day today in Japanese school was doodoo on a stick. I'm back to my rightful place at the bottom of the class. It sucks. I've lost that bouncy, optimistic feeling about passing the year. It was nice for the two weeks it lasted. But sure onwards and upwards. I don't want to be a gloomy Gus. 'Today is the youngest day...' and all that jazz.
So I've decided I want to talk to you about figs.
I am a recent convert to the fig. I've never been a big fan of the dried variety. But fresh ones are delicious. I mean just look at that plump, red goodness.
I know, hark at me! A scrubber from the Northside banging on about such exotic delicacies.
But seriously, now is the best season. Wherever you are, go out and getcha fig on!
P.S. This advice may not apply to our dear readers in the Southern Hemisphere.

Ad on a Tokyo Vending Machine

Tell me this isn't 'Lost in Translation' made flesh and blood.

This is the face of a man who has sold his soul for a can of coffee.

Moon viewing

A couple of weeks ago it was the お月見 (otsukimi - moon viewing) season in Japan. It's kind of like a Harvest Festival.
It's one of my favourite events of the Japanese calendar. I was born in the year of the rabbit, so I'm supposed to enjoy a special relationship with the moon. For those of you not up to speed, I have ranted before in these pages about the Japanese idea of the moon: they see two rabbits pounding rice in a mortar rather than a man's face when they look up at it.
Being the whiny so and so I am, I'm mad because I was ill for this year's ceremony. It's held mid autumn, usually the full moon at the end of September. You decorate your house with Japanese pampas grass, chestnuts and sweet potatoes. You then sit and gaze at the moon eating 月見団子 (tsukimi dango - sweet bean dumplings). It's so peaceful and contemplative.
I've always loved looking at the sky, and especially the moon. Maybe these Japanese have it right after all: Being a rabbit I'm strangely attracted to our little satellite.
I've tried taking pictures of the moon many times. It rarely works. Shooting into any reflected light causes major hassles.
Ironically, the best picture I ever took of the moon was captured when I was absolutely off my face on a beach in Thailand. On top of being unable to see straight, my poor camera had been through the wars (this was back in My Uncle Travelling Pat days). It had been soaked in a typhoon, fallen into the water, and coated in the sand of various tropical shores.
But look at it, I think it could be a postcard.
Recently, a great friend paid me a real compliment. She said she liked the way I take photos and asked if I had any favourites. This would definitely be one of them. It makes me feel the warm hazy feeling of the country and its bars!
I have a few other favourite pictures. I'm going to try and make a little album and put it up for all to see.

Three things about today:

Today I heard the most amazing quote. It's by Ei Rokusuke from his book 'Daioujou.' (I think - apologies for any misattribution or mistranslation.) It goes, 'Today is the youngest day of the rest of your life.' I find it inspirational.

Today I got a great laugh from my listings magazine. I found out that the Japanese translation of 'Being John Malkovich' is 'Malkovich's Hole.' Teeheehee.

Today I turned into a grumpy old man. I shouted at some young school kids who were throwing stones at each other. It made me so mad to see them doing something so irresponsible. They got the fright of their lives. I'm a few short years away from being the guy who goes round the neghbourhood is his dressing gown, shouting at people to stop stealing his newpaper.

I'm shaking in my boots, sweetie!

I was woken today by an earthquake at 6.40am. It wasn't that big, maybe level three or four, but it was big enough for me to assume emergency position. That means I jumped out of bed and huddled in my toilet, clad in jammies, with a pillow ready to throw over my head. The whole toilet thing is not in case I brown-trouser it. Rather it's because it's the safest room in the flat: It's the littlest and, therefore, has the best roof support.
My first thought on getting back to bed was, 'Thank you very much, Kim Jong Bloomin' Il! You've only gone and set off another nuclear bomb, haven't you!'
The fact that Korea and Japan lie on different tectonic plates did nothing to assuage my bitterness toward the podgy dictator. I remained convinced that it was his fault I was too nervous to get back to sleep. It was because of him and his ego that I would be forced to go to work without my full beauty quota.
It's a rotten business this whole nuclear testing thing. Let's put aside the obvious risks of aggression or weapons being sold off to terrorists. What scares me more is the almost inevitable environmental damage that this part of the world is going to be made to suffer. I figure sushi and sashimi are going to have to undergo the glow-in-the-dark test before long. To say nothing of the radioactive currents or dust particles that are probably clinging to my washing as we speak.
I'm reminded of one of the funniest Victoria Wood sketches of all time. The Julie Walters character is talking very earnestly to her friend about the leak in the power plant in Chernobyl and how worried she was because she had her patio furniture out the night it happened. I've butchered the joke, but it makes me laugh to remember it. If I wasn't laughing, I'd be crying.
Frighteningly, the papers are reporting now that if North Korea builds a successful bomb, it will only be a matter of years before Japan itself will establish a nuclear capability. At the moment such an action would be anticonstitutional. But the new Prime Minister, Abe, and some of his advisors have expressed openness to reforming the law for such an eventuality. You can just imagine what some of the other regional powers would have to say about Japan having a finger on the red button. Can you say, 'Arms Race'?
Oh we're going to hell in a handbasket. And our beloved Western governments must shoulder some of the blame for this situation. The despotic Kim is like a spoilt child. No-one is paying any attention to him. At present all eyes our focused (disasterously and mistakenly) on Iraq and Afghanistan. Diplomatic negotiations were cut off long ago and have since been woefully neglected. So Kim Jong Il is going to throw a fit and make bloody sure people remember he's around. It all seems like it could have been avoided. He and his administration clearly have no respect for human life. I just hope that the Western Powers, China, Russia and Japan find a way of dealing with him before he goes all Thelma and Louise on us.

Happy 35th Anniversary

On October 4th, my parents celebrated thirty-five years of marriage. At the time, I wanted to write them a poem and put it up here. But I was sick that week and too self-centred to worry about anyone but myself. I'm better now, so here is the belated haiku.
I got the idea for this poem after considering parents' relationship.
Couples first come together and are very happy. Then kids come along. Soon the focus shifts to rearing the new family. The couple become distant, their orignal love forgotten. However, when the children have flown the nest, the couple are thrown back together, realising they don't know each other anymore. By always putting the children first, the bedrock of the partnership, that original love, disappears. And the whole family is weaker for it.
This has never happened with my folks.
Though my brother and sister and I have always felt perfectly, securely loved, it has always been clear that my mother and father's first concern is for each other. This is how it should be. And this is why, 35 years later, they're still sickeningly in love.
About 15 years ago my mother had a minor car crash. My sister and brother were in the car with her. I was at home with my father. My cousin, who was also a passenger, rang to tell my father of the accident. I overheard my dad picking up the phone. The first words out of his mouth were, 'Is G. okay?' (my mum) When he knew she was alright, he asked after his children.
I remember at the time how much this impressed me. It's stayed with me all these years. I felt even safer in my family unit knowing that my parents' love was so deep.
If I'm ever lucky enough to find myself in such a relationship, I hope I can remember my parents' lesson.
So here is my ode to a successful marriage.

その縁が、

子育てのあと、

切れなかった。

so-no-e-n-ga

ko-so-da-te-no-a-to

ki-re-na-kat-ta

The couple held hands.

Then came three happy children.

But that grip stayed firm.

Another Haiku

潮風は

くすくす笑った。

鴎の子。

shi-o-ka-ze-wa

ku-su-ku-su-wa-rat-ta

ka-mo-me-no-ko

A ticklish chuckle,

born of a seagull’s chick,

carried on the breeze.

I wrote this one lying on my sick bed, watching the maddeningly blue sky I was too weak to go out and enjoy. I was trying to remember what it was like at my favourite beach in Manly, NSW.
I took this photo of Japanese seagulls in Yokohama for my Dad last year. He was brought up beside a dock and has a fondness for all things maritime. Well I didn't check their passports, but the gulls looked Japanese. You can tell they are not Australian birds because they have two feet. Remember that loon in Nova, K.?

Watch your wallet!

Continuing evidence that I'm becoming more Japanese than the Japanese themselves:
Today on the train, a woman tapped me on the shoulder. She pointed to my bag and said, 'Dangerous!'
I've become so lax about my personal security that I stand in the train, with my bag open behind me, and my wallet peaking out, just asking to be pinched.
When I first arrived in Tokyo, I remember seeing other Japanese being equally careless. I thought they were idiots. Now I'm as bad, if not worse.
All the people who've visited me have chided me at some point for taking so little care to protect my stuff. But the idea of somebody stealing from me seems so alien. I can't imagine it.
I guess when the Japanese themselves are warning you, it's time to change. Today was my wake-up call.
Plus, if I don't change my ways, I'll be fleeced the second I'll land in Dublin airport this Christmas. I'll be lucky if the canny Irish thieves leave me more than my socks and a duty free bag for modesty!

Back from the dead

Hello all,
Sorry for that interruption to blogging transmission. I have been sick. I've only been de-interneted for a week, but I now have so many unanswered emails in my inbox that I get a little panic attack every time I look at it. I apologize for the delay in replying and thought that a blog entry would at least be a start.
So to my pox! I won't bore you with the details. It was just a bad, feverish cold. I soldiered on as best I could.
Usually I love living alone. I love the privacy, the independence, the self-centredness. But when I'm sick I hate it.
Usually I love working for a small school. I love the homeliness, the intimacy, the quiet. But when I'm sick I hate it.
Honestly, there is nothing worse when you have a raging fever and almost no speaking voice than to have to be perky, interesting, and instructional. Well maybe grocery shopping or cooking or laundry. They're probably worse. All of which we singletons still have to do when we're poorly.
But it's almost passed now. The hot and cold sweats are gone and the voice is now more 'nasal' than last week's 'on death's door'.
Sunday, I mitched off Japanese school and Monday was a national holiday, so I stayed in bed for two days straight. You know the truly galling thing? After weeks upon months of endless rain, they were the two most perfect days of the year - beautiful blue skies, crisp, dry air and a nice warm temperature. I ask you!
Being holed up in bed also forced, FORCED me to watch all of the second season of Lost. I had fully intended to spread it out and measure my enjoyment. But damn it, if I couldn't go out in my own blues skies, then at least I would enjoy theirs.
And man, that series is so cool. I will have to watch it again just to figure out all the cool links between the characters and plot lines. Very very fun. Please somebody email me if you want to swop Lost theories.
Oh I also tried to be a little bit highbrow too during my convalescence. I had an article in Japanese about Samuel Beckett that I'd wanted to read for ages. I was always put off by its difficulty. But it was well worth the effort. I learned so much. Did you know he originally wrote Waiting for Godot in French? Clever ba&#&%d. And then he only went and translated himself for it's hugely successful move to the London stage. It actually cleared up a lot for me: I'd often wondered how a man who used so many Irish names in his titles had come up with Godot. Did you also know he came from money? Hello Foxrock! I always thought he had the whole starving artist vibe about him. I was also interested in seeing him as an expat. The love hate relationship he had with Ireland really resonated me. He may not have chosen to live there, but, by God, he never let anyone say he wasn't Irish. To be honest, the article only took about an hour to read. I quickly returned to my true lowbrow nature and vegged and dozed until the bedsores started to kick in.
I'm back at work and school now as normal. I'm at about 80% fitness. Another few percent and I promise I'll get emailing.

Real haiku by a real poet

Thanks to my father's incomparable single-finger typing skills, here are the real deal haiku, as promised. I love them.
From "The Inchicore Haiku" by Michael Hartnett

1/ On a brick chimney
I can see all West Limerick
in a jackdaw's eye.

2/ I push in a plug.
Mozart comes into the room
riding a cello.

My art moves people

So it seems my foray into the world of haiku has led to an outbreak of artistic inspiration in my family.
My Mother, from her sick bed, was moved to compose a limerick for me. Here it is.
There was a young man in Japan,well known as the good Pato san.He decided to logall his life in a blog.Now we read it as fast as we can.
By my mother, The Trash Heap (a loving nickname, honest!)
Then my Dad went and discovered some real Irish haiku by a real poet. He read them out to me over the phone and they’re really good. He promised to forward them on to me and I’ll upload them as soon as they arrive. That way, dear reader, you can see what a real haiku is like.
Finally, as for my siblings, my art has inspired them in different ways.
My brother and his band, Brian Cullen’s Love Bullets, went and recorded a CD over the weekend. All down to me, don’t you know! Here is the band’s Myspace link, if you want to check it out (though it might not be up just yet).
http://www.myspace.com/briancullenslovebullets
While my sister, the stealth blogger (or should that be sloth blogger) has delved into the realms of performance art. Go to her blog and see her dressed up in drag. She looks the spit of Harold from Neighbours (if he lost a few kilos).

Celebratory mood

This is to celebrate the fact that I passed my first mock test in Japanese. I still feel passing this year will be a big challenge, but at least now I have hope. A lot will depend on luck. However, now that I have the experience of passing, I feel like anything is possible. Wish me luck! Only two months to go.

Toilet humour continued

Please friends... gather together and give me a toilet intervention already. I’m obsessed.
Today’s update is a handy English translation for the facilities in the ANA hotel at Ark Hills.
If you look just down from the centre and to the left, you will see my personal favourite: ‘For Ladies’. Is that a coy smile I see dancing on the woman’s lips?

Good news for my sis and the environment

Big sis, you will be happy to know that Zama City has finally started mixed paper recycling. It's been three years, but it now looks like I will be able to recycle almost all my household waste. And it's not a moment too soon for this anti-global warming measure - Mount Fuji has no snow cover still now at the end of September. This is a first in my students' memories. And you know how long most of them have been around. Just kidding!

Return of the Last Samurai

No, not an announcement for another pants movie by Messrs Cruise and Watanabe. Rather a note that my young bro will be paying me a surprise visit at the end of the year. I can't wait. It'll be his second trip to Japan, making him a seasoned pro and not at all in need of babysitting. We'll mostly hang out, but the main event of the trip will be going to see crazy Japanese pro-wrestling. It'll be a first for me. It's sure to be mad. Roll on December, say I.

Beautiful Bonus Break in Tokyo

I had a great day today. Basically I got an unexpected day off. Apparently my boss had told me ages ago that the school would be specially closed today. But not having written it down, it totally slipped my mind.
It was a wonderful feeling being told yesterday that I didn't have to come in. It's even more precious when your schedule is as full as mine is.
I got up early (unwillingly). My body clock was set to 'work', so I couldn't sleep in. But I took a long, lazy breakfast reading my blog roll. Then I did yoga for an hour. I'm getting better each time, managing to do poses I could never do before. Next time you see me I might try showing off with a bit of contortion. It'll probably send me right to the emergency ward! Pride comes before a fall.
Then I headed into the centre of town and had a nice lunch in a very trendy part of Tokyo. It’s called Ark Hills in Minato Ward. You may recall I’ve talked about the ‘Hills’ brand of shopping complexes before. This is one of the oldest. It’s all glass and marble and fountains and swanky restaurants and cafes. The best part was sitting there watching all the other regular Joes go back to work while I could just hang out. Bliss.
I had a funny incident at lunch. I really am becoming more Japanese than the Japanese themselves. I ate in a very Westernised café. They probably target the many tourists and international bankers and lawyers that knock around that area.
I had a simple lunch of veggie soup and rice. But when it came to my table, I realised I had no chopsticks. Without even thinking, I went up to the waitress and asked for some. Would you believe they didn’t have any? They had to go and get me a sealed, disposable set. I swear I think I got the choppies the cook was going to eat his own lunch with. I was mortified. It had just been a knee-jerk reaction on my part. Turns out they wanted me to eat the rice with a spoon. What am I? A Neanderthal? I was very glad they’d put me in a seat way in the back. The witchy assistants were having a good laugh at me as I walked away. I guess I was the first person to ever ask for choppies.
Having said that, I proved later on that I am far from being one with the Borg. Ark Hills is just around the corner from the American Embassy. As I was aimlessly strolling away from the centre, a police officer stopped me and asked where I thought I was going. Turns out they have special anti-terrorism security measures in effect and you can’t walk up near the embassy without a permit. I was so shocked at the question that for a good few seconds (it felt like hours) not a single word of Japanese would come out of my mouth. Thank God I’d shaved off my beard. In my hirsute state, the cop might have thought I was a Palestinian militant and wrestled me to the ground.
It all reminded me of when I lived in France. At that time the country was under threat of attack from Algerian terrorists. The French have a great word for the special security measures they take in such situations. They call them ‘vigipirate’ - pronounced vee-jee-pee-rat. The ‘vigipirate’ mostly entailed covering over all the trash cans in the country and chaining closed emergency exits, turning them into potential death traps. I just loved that word though. It conjured up images of the vain Frenchies dressing up in their pirate finery to battle the evil terrorists.
Anyway, back to my day off. The weather got pretty good so I took a long walk and visited Hamarikyu gardens. This is an old park right in the centre of the city. Tokyo's not at all the concrete jungle it's made out to be. I took a few pictures, mostly of herons and butterflies, Japanese pine trees and tonnes of plants I don't know the names of. I also got a mozzie bite for my troubles. You wouldn't credit it! And it almost October, too! Thanks a bunch global warming.

On yams and being Japanese...

It's not all just Japanese round here at Cadwell Heights these days. I do try and squeeze in other reading besides my poxy textbooks.
Right now, I'm enjoying a book called Cultural Anthropology. It sounds heavy, but it's very accessible and full of lots of interesting case studies and anecdotes from cultures all over the world (many of which are disappearing as I type).
I'm especially interested in the parts where the author (Roger M. Keesing) talks about how 'world view is encoded in a language'.
He refers to a famous case study of the Trobriand Islanders of the Southwest Pacific (certain Australians who may be reading this will know way more about the topic than yours truly!)
One of the anthropologists who have worked on the data from this island people is Dorothy Lee.
She writes in one passage, 'If I were to go with a Trobriander to a garden where the taytu, a species of yam, had just been harvested, I would come back and tell you: "There are good taytu there; just the right degree of ripeness, large and perfectly shaped; not a blight to be seen, not one rotten spot..." The Trobriander would come back and say "Taytu"; and he would have said all that I did and more... '(Lee 1949:402)
Now, if I didn’t live in Japan and if I had never studied Japanese, I don’t think her words would have meant anything to me.
But as it is, I totally get what she’s talking about.
In Japan, by saying one word or phrase, I can convey what would take me ten words or even a whole page of writing in English. Japanese is beautifully and excruciatingly brief and ambiguous at times. Saying words like ‘おいしい oishii: delicious’, ‘大丈夫 daijobu: OK’ or ‘よろしくyoroshiku: well’ can communicate deep layers of meaning in certain situations that I’m only now starting to fathom.
But similarly, there are times when to translate one word from English, for example ‘you’, I need to choose whole sentences in Japanese. The simple act of addressing another person can force me to consider register, politeness, ranking, humility, and respect. It can be mind-boggling.
Another quick illustration: You know those old fashioned LED screens you see in train stations, airports and the like? The ones that give public announcements or the weather or stock market information? Well I never understood their usefulness until I could read Japanese.
I remember trying to read these boards in English and standing there mouthing out the words as they slowly passed along the screen. The……8.15……train……will……depart……from……platform……14. It all seemed so slow and inconvenient. I often thought an old piece of paper would have worked way more efficiently.
But now I realise these screens were developed here in Japan. As ‘we’ Japanese read in pictures, you can fit whole, complicated sentences in just one screen flash. It’s brilliant. They work great in a Japanese context.
Language, culture and worldview are intimately entwined. Are Japanese people ambiguous, flexible, compromising and accommodating because their language is so? Or is it the other way around and the people have turned out that way because of the language they use?
It has been suggested that the Japanese should simplify their language. Why not adopt a roman script instead of the Chinese characters and two main kana syllabaries used at present? But this idea has always been quickly shot down. To fully express what being Japanese means, the full language, in all its eccentricity and complication, is necessary.
Please note that I only started saying ‘we’ Japanese when my language ability developed beyond a few survival phrases. In fact, it coincided with starting to be able to read and write.
It prompts the question what does being Japanese really mean. If I lived 20 years in America or Australia or Canada, other people might start calling me American. But if I live twenty years in Japan and learn to speak the language fluently, will I ever be called Japanese? People of Korean or Chinese ancestries who speak Japanese like a native are regularly called Japanese (sometimes to their chagrin). Will the day ever come when a person of Irish ancestry will be treated in the same way?
Sorry if this entry ended up coming out like half-baked dissertation proposal. I just thought the whole topic was really interesting. You can all wake up now.

Before
For the last three weeks I tried rockin' a full beard. I liked it for the first ten days or so. Then it started to get so itchy. I had visions of myself ending up looking like yer man from 'Lost' or something. Instead, I ended up looking more like Debbie Reynolds. Only former inmates of St. Aidan's CBS can appreciate the true horror of this statement. It was bad - 'nuff said.

After

Backck to my former glory. How did I get a tan

in the 24 hours between pictures?

Maybe I have jaundice. That said, I did have

carrot juice for breakfast, though.

For my brother

This is the small video clip I took of the guy practising swordsmanship at Yasukuni Shrine, Tokyo. It's really not that interesting. I thought my bro might be a little into it, though.

Then here is where he messes up.

Snicker. I was happy to feel the wind might be taken out of the right-wingers' pompous sails. For all those visiting Tokyo, there are way more peaceful and bea

Sweet surprise?

My culinary adventures in Japan continue. The above sweets are dried, fermented soybeans covered in chocolate. I mistakenly thought they were peanuts. Think pleasant chocolate with an after-taste of old sock. They were not good. But that was not my sweetest surprise over the last few days (see what I did there?)
I got all dressed and ready to go to Japanese school today and arrived at the train station to see they were still operating on the weekend timetable. It turns out today is a bank holiday Monday: Respect for the Aged Day. So no school. A beautiful bonus day off. I'd completely forgotten about it. Thank you old fogies for this much needed extra free time.
It really is appreciated. I had such a busy Saturday and Sunday. I squeezed in two yoga classes, two private students, one day of regular work, one day of regular Japanese school, a visit to an exhibition, a drop in at the infamous Yasukuni shrine, and a two hour night-time walk through Tokyo. I was exhausted this morning and would have been totally unproductive even if I had had anywhere to go.
In all that weekend activity, I'm afraid there wasn't that much of note.
Yasukuni shrine is the one commemorating the millions of Japanese war dead. It also enshrines some Class-A War Criminals. It's the place that Prime Minister Koizumi insists on praying at, thus causing China, Korea et al to have another excuse for hating 'us'.
It's not a pleasant place. Whenever you go there are always these right-wing nutjobs in army fatigues hanging about. It's quite intimidating.
When I dropped in there was a display of traditional sword craft. I took some video, mainly for my little bro. I'm not sure if I can be bothered uploading it. In another setting I think I'd have loved to see a guy in full kimono practising traditional sword fighting skills. But in Yasukuni it smacked of dirty nationalist pride and aggrandisement.
The best part is I caught him on video making a mistake and failing to slice through a bamboo rod. He knocked it over instead. I secretly hoped he'd have to go and impale himself for the shame he'd brought on the shrine.
One thing I will say in defence of this place is that one person’s war criminal is another person’s hero. History is the account of the victor, right? Let’s say the US hadn’t won the war. It’s not such a leap to imagine that those who ordered A-bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki would now be Class-A war criminals themselves. War is atrocity. Yasukuni is a complicated place. It requires deep soul searching and dialogue on ALL sides. Unfortunately, the powers in all the affected countries do not seem to be interested in sensibly discussing the issue and finding a way to live together and move on. Not when there’s a chance for posturing and playing to worst elements of the home crowd. For some reason I’m thinking of Pope Benedict right now. Wonder why?
Anyway, the art exhibition I went to wasn't that great either. It was in a small gallery that I like with some Japanese artists whose work I'd enjoyed before. Mainly Nihonga: A style of painting where the paints are all made from these crushed precious stones and metals. The theme was Japanese wildlife. Maybe I just wasn't in the mood, but none of the pictures really spoke to me. I guess I was quite impressed by one picture of a white peacock in front of yellow hibiscus. Not so much for the art itself, but more for its detail and all the skilled work that went into it.
I did see one huge folding screen depicting cormorants on a craggy misty cliff. I totally associate these birds with Ireland and some wild place like the Skelligs, or that. I must have some sense memory of having to draw them in Nature Study class or something. I suddenly came over all homesick and wished for a crisp new copy book and some sharply pared colour pencils. Oh to be in primary school again. I wouldn't mind going back if I could ensure that I’d skip ages 13 to 19. No way I'd want to ever be a teenager again.
The only other thing that sticks in my head from the last few days is that at yoga one of the women in the class brought along her boyfriend. She's pretty experienced, but he was really struggling, as it was his first trial lesson. He even sat out quite a few of the more difficult poses.
The thing is, she sat them out, too. As it wasn't her first time, I was surprised. Do you think she was doing this so as not to hurt his ego or make out she was stronger or fitter than he was? If so, that really sucks. Are we men and women all really so afraid of each other? Can't we see that everyone has a unique contribution and value? This life is neither a race nor contest. We all have a valid part to play and different strengths and weaknesses. I dunno. For some reason, it just really depressed me.
In fact, this past weekend was a total bummer, now that I look back on it. I wish I hadn't bothered to write about it now. I'm sorry. I'll try and be cheerier next time.
P.S. It's still raining, by the way, for what feels like about the fifth straight month. Totally helping my mood.

50 years of photojournalism

Today I got my pretentious on again. I pulled out the black beret and dusted off the old polo neck and headed in to Tokyo’s Metropolitan Museum of Photography.
I was really excited to see the above exhibition entitled ‘Images as they are: five decades of iconic photo-journalism.’
It really brought home how much power a well taken and well-timed photo can hold. And iconic was no understatement. They were very, very famous works, but thoroughly depressing. It was like condensing fifty years of human misery into one exhibition.
After seeing slow motion footage of Kennedy getting shot, innumerable images of wars and public strife, pictures of the first people to be diagnosed with aids and small famine stricken hands clutching at an aid worker’s fingers, I was about ready to give it all up.
I totally understand that this was not art, but photojournalism. So it was natural that worldwide trouble and strife should be disproportionately represented. It hasn’t exactly been a peaceful nor uneventful half-century. Plus they really were trying to drive home the message that such images are not gratuitous but can, in themselves, be agents for change and improvement. Maybe so, but man I really needed a hug by the end.
Another very interesting theme they were trying to get across was to show that as technology has developed, so too has the style of photojournalism. It’s been democratised, as it were. In only the last decade, with the arrival of digital technology, the age of the amateur photojournalist, the on-the-scene witness has been born.
But I’m not convinced that proximity necessarily equals truth. Just being there and recording an event does not necessarily have the same impact as the image a talented and professional eye can create. Such images tell a richer story.
I was far more moved and provoked by the truth of the Vietnamese woman washing blood from her doorstep or the Biafran militia carrying mortar shells like a bunch of bananas, than by the point and push of the Asian Tsunami, 9/11 or Abu Ghraib. Something for the CNN’s or Fox News’s of this world to think about.

Japanese Toilets: Entry No. 564

So I’m going to go on about Japanese toilets yet again. I think toilets have been mentioned many than any other on topic on this here blog. I’m fixated. Freud would surely have a field day with that little detail.
But how could they not interest you. I mean look at the little control panel on the average washlet above. You feel like you’re captaining a starship when you’re sitting down on one. Half the time I have to stifle my ‘Engages’ and my ‘Make it so’s’ when I answer nature’s call.
Basically, they are just a technologically advanced bidet / toilet. But all those buttons, to play with... Water jets, massage functions, water pressure, water temperature, nozzle direction, nozzle-head cleaning, warm-air drying. Fun!
They can be a little intimidating for the uninitiated. Even more so because they usually aren’t written in English. There are many stories of visitors to Japan getting a powerful squirt in the eye, having confused the water jet for the flush.
PS For all you dirty minded readers out there examining the above picture with a good Japanese dictionary, the button for nozzle cleaning refers to the machine and not to the user!
PPS Lest I give the impression that these advanced machines are prevalent all over Japan, I hasten to add that Japan is all about context. These machines are not cheap, so you usually only find them in your swankier establishments and homes. Previous visitors to me here will testify that, depending on where you go, you can spend an equally alarming amount of time squatting over a sparkling clean, porcelain hole in the ground.

The Handkerchief Prince

Here is a picture of a hankie my boss gave me the other day. This present was very kind and unexpected, but also a classic example of how in Japan a phenomenon can be created from thin air.
You see, every summer the National High-School Baseball Finals are televised. This year, one particular played grabbed the media’s attention.
In the rough and tumble world of baseball, this pitcher came across as a mannerly, refined, educated young man. And all because instead of wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, as all the other players were doing, he chose to mop his face with a light blue hanky, just like the one above.
And so the Handkerchief Prince was born. All the news programs carried pieces on him, his face was on the front cover of all the weekly magazines, and the Internet was awash with analysis of his popularity.
He came to represent a type of manners and propriety that most people feel young Japanese have entirely lost touch with. A brilliant academic and social future was plotted for this lad and his parents were held up as role models for child rearing. And all from one little sweat rag. Let’s not forget the hanky!
The company that made the hand towel couldn’t keep up with the sudden surge in demand. Unopened packages went on Internet auction sites for twenty times the regular retail price. Seriously, some department stores even ran special raffles where 1,600 people applied to win one of only 80 such handkerchiefs. Madness, but totally typical of the Japanese market.
I would hate to be a celebrity over here. The mass media is probably the most fickle in the world. They build you up from nowhere in a flash, you are literally everywhere for about a month. Then the next big thing comes along and you are dropped like a hot potato. There is nothing gradual or graceful about it at all. The crash landing must really hurt.
I hope the Handkerchief Prince really does have good, grounded parents behind him. He will surely need them soon. I give him another two weeks in the sun before the media’s attention deficient gaze falls elsewhere.

From the weird Japanese food files

As I’ve said here before, I think Japanese cuisine is the best in the world. People in this country are fascinated by food. They are really open minded about what to eat and will give almost anything a go. When you live here, it’s best to adopt the same mindset. I’ve come to love the fermented beans, the salty plums, and the devil’s-tongue jelly, to name but a few.
Please notice above the most recent addition to my weird food files: Hakone Black Eggs. They were a souvenir given to me by one of my students on her return from a trip to one of Japan’s most famous hot-spring resorts.
These are regular chicken eggs that are boiled in the naturally piping hot underground springs. The high sulphur content of the nearby lava and volcanic rock gives the shells their distinctive black colour.
The real kicker is that these are SOFT-boiled eggs! And they’re not refrigerated! And they’re good for two weeks! They’re a serious attack of salmonella waiting to happen, wouldn’t you think?
But ‘we’ Japanese don’t let such trifling matters stop us from getting our culinary groove on. Oh no!
A clear sign that I’ve assimilated: As soon as I got these puppies home I thought, “You know what’d make these soft-boiled eggs just perfect... if I wrapped them in dried seaweed and seasoned them with salad cream!” That’s to say I’ve either assimilated or I’m pregnant.
I lost my nerve momentarily when I cracked open the shell and the egg dropped onto the seaweed with a worrying, watery plop. But it was too late to turn back. And you know what? My little creation was gorgeous. I’m calling it ‘Scotch egg goes to the Orient’.
Final little fact for all you Trivial Pursuit fans: Did you know that Japan has the most hot-spring resorts of any country in the world, numbering about 10,000? In second place comes France with only three hundred and something.
Here in Japan the spas are the upside of living on a fault-line between tectonic plates. I’ve got to say, it’s meagre compensation for the threat of being plunged into some volcanic crevice at any moment.
P.S. If my sister is reading this she is probably clutching her knees and rocking back and forth in a traumatised state: Too many flashbacks of the guided tour from Hell. Big sis, I’m wearing my white gloves as I type.

Tell me what you think...

Dedication to yoga poses involving long periods of sitting on the feet?
Or stigmata?
Just call me Patrick Pio.
PS Please ignore the fact that I have long, bony Olive Oil (from Popeye) feet

Whyyyyy?????

Evidence the Universe hates me at the moment:
1. I failed my first mock test for my big final exam in December. And not just by a little bit - a whole whopping 20%. Three months out this is not good. So it looks like I'm probably going to have to repeat the poxy year again and a qualifcation that should have taken two years will now end up taking four. Arse!
2. Even my one true friend, The Interweb, hates me. Lovely email stabbed me in the back and proved beyond doubt that I will never be an FBI agent.
3. After teasing us with the most beautiful autumn weather (my absolute favourite season in Japan), the hot sticky mess has come back with a vengeance: mid thirties and so humid you could cut the air with a knife. What happened to dry air, clear blue skies and the beautiful 25 degrees of last week?
4. And last but not least, a sure sign somebody up there has it in for me at the moment: I went to yoga tonight with a proactive, business-like mindset. No faffing around in the changing rooms, I decided I'd wear my yoga shorts underneath my trousers and use that extra time for stretching before class. Cut to me getting out of the shower after class realising I hadn't brought any clean underpants to change into. So I had to go home commando. What if there'd been an earthquake? On top of being dead or lying injured in an emergency room, I'd have been mortified. Appropriately (or more ironically) I was wearing combats tonight. Not the softest fabric. I've just looked up the word 'chafing' in the dictionary. If that comes up in my final test, I'm set.
But...
Reasons to keep on living:
1. My new favourite programme has not in fact been cancelled, as I'd feared, just moved in the schedule. It's great, it's going to be on all the time now. That should really help me plug up that gaping 20% hole, eh?
2. The hope of hearing my father (the Renaissance man) get his radio play aired on national radio. It's a really good script. If it wins the competition, I will definitely let you know how to hear it over the Internets.
3. The fancy weighing scales in my yoga studio and yoga in general. So they have this really space age scales that sends electric pulses through your body and lets you know your body fat precentage, muscle mass, and of course weight. They even have a handy chart hanging nearby to show you how you measure up. Turns out I'm totally Joe Average. But there were plenty of other helpful illustrations like, 'The Sportsman Zone', 'The Muscle Man Zone', 'The Puny Zone' (I was amazed to find I didn't fall into this section) and 'The Sumo Wrestler Zone'. Wow, that'd really do your self confidence a lot of good if before your yoga lesson you were told by the friendly machine that you'd be better suited to lobbing salt about a sumo ring than limbering up on a yoga mat. Anyway, my new reason for living is to get into that prized sportsman zone. Plus now that this whole translation gig seems to be slipping further and further away from me, another string to my bow wouldn't hurt. Maybe it's time to get serious about getting qualified to teach yoga. Maybe I should look for some teacher training courses somewhere around the world to take summer '07. Any suggestions gladly accepted.

Potato, po-tah-to...

Hey people, let me educate you a minute. Anyone know the difference between a hurricane, a typhoon and a cyclone? No? Well, thanks to my friendly meteorologist, I do, now.
So they’re all exactly the same weather system. It’s just that when one is over the Atlantic, it’s called a hurricane; when over the Pacific, a typhoon; and when over the Indian Ocean, a cyclone.
Kind of like when another person steals from you we call it robbery, but when the government steals from you we call it taxation. I keed! I keed! I love you Bertie. Gawaan the Aidan’s !!!
What am I talking about. I’m not even a resident taxpayer in Ireland, though that forty-Euro-a-year credit card levy still smarts.
Anyway, the reason I’m waffling on about stormy weather and the like is that typhoon number twelve is heading our way. It’s a rare breed: one of the 1% of typhoons that originate in the Atlantic and start their life out as a hurricane. Feeling itchy feet, they speed off over the International Date Line and suddenly become a typhoon.
This wordplay is all well and good, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m battening down the hatches yet again in preparation for another wind and rain assault. And the typhoon season only lasts until, what, November! Flippin’ marvellous. You wouldn’t credit Japanese weather.
It’s actually lashing out of the heavens as I type. And this after four hours of Japanese class and nowt but a two-and-a-half-hour mock test to fill my evening. I bet you’re all mad jealous of my exotic lifestyle.
I need a drink. (Successfully 10 days since my last alcoholic beverage, people. I’m a reformed man!)

Dad's triptych

It was my sister's birthday yesterday. She asked my Dad to create three pieces of art for her as a gift.
His speciality is making a relief of dried flowers and plants (especially bog cotton from the west) and paint.
Above are the fruits of his labour. I love them. I'm calling them his first triptych.
I'm not being a pedant. I know nothing about art. Seriously zero. But I used to be a tour guide in Dublin's government buildings. There was piece hanging there by one of Ireland's most famous modern artists, Mainie Jellet, I think. Or maybe Evie Hone. It was a beautiful work, but more than that, the new word I learned fascinated me.
I love that I once again have the chance to use it.
However, before my exceedingly precise mother posts a corrective comment here for all to see, I'm aware that I'm not describing the above art exactly correctly here. My dictionary defines a triptych as 'a picture or carved design on three pieces of wood placed side by side, especially one over an altar.' But details schmetails. It's a triple word score, people, and I'm not giving that up.
Now that the word is out there, your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to use it three times in a sentence tomorrow. Good luck and let me know how you get on.
P.S. Commissions will happily be passed on to my Dad. He's taking early retirement this month and will easily be able to knock up a triptych or three for anyone who's interested.

Capsicums in the Crapper?

Continued evidence that, as a teacher, I am not worth the money I’m paid.
In class with my two little eight-year-old students reviewing fruits and vegetables. Real back to basics stuff. Done it a million times with them before.
In their defence (and mine) I guess it was the first lesson back after a month’s vacation. But still…
So we were working our way through the list,
‘What is this?’ ‘Asparagus.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Pumpkin.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Banana.’ ‘Check.’ ‘Toilet.’ ‘Ch.. huh? What?’
At first I thought he was having me on, but the little rascal was deadly serious. Bear in mind that I was at this moment pointing to a fresh, green, bell pepper.
‘Toilet?’ I asked him.
‘Uh, toilet, toilet!’ he said.
I was like, ‘That’s not a toilet!’
And he was like, (make sure to say the next piece in a little Japanese accent) ‘Uh, toilet, toilet PEPPER.’
Jeez!

Nearly lost an eye today

What are the chances of this accident happening in Ireland: nearly poking one’s eye out on a chopstick drying by a kitchen sink. Slim to none, I would say. But here in my flat it’s an almost weekly occurrence – utensil threat level orange, at the very least.
Some background: I love my flat. It’s conveniently located. It has a happy, homely vibe. And (for Japan) it’s pretty big. But it is, nonetheless, ageing and eccentric. Not unlike its inhabitant.
I’m used to the fact that the walls are made of paper. I have grown an extra layer of calcium on my forehead from repeated bashing on the too-low doorframes. Curvature of the spine from the midget-tailored counters? Not a problem.
But what really gets my goat is the architects gave me a bathroom that is nearly bigger than my bedroom, and yet didn’t see fit to include a bathroom sink in their design. That’s right, all non-shower ablutions have to be done in the kitchen. Gross, right? And pretty dangerous, too, as it turns out.
So back to today’s near gouging.
As is my wont, I’d washed a load of dishes last night and left them to dry over night by the sink. This morning, running late from too much coffee and newspaper time, I was leaning in to the sink to rinse my brushed teeth. Then I felt a little discomfort around my left eye. Not pain – just discomfort.
I realised that the tip of a chopstick was sitting snugly in the fold of skin between my eyeball and ocular cavity.
Amazingly, I didn’t freak out. I slowly and calmly eased back, stood straight and (not so calmly) examined my eye in the mirror for damage. Not a scratch. Not even some bruising or an irritation. Seriously though, a centimetre either way and I’d have been composing this post in Braille. Unbelievably lucky. Thank you to whoever is looking after me.
Morals of the story: Learn to wash and put away (never gonna happen) and try to minimise the preparation of dishes that might require a fork!
Peace out,
Gimpy of Cadwell Heights

Little Human Baby Meat

From our ‘Overheard on the streets of Tokyo’ files:
The granny was pushing the empty pram home. Her two or three-year-old granddaughter trotted alongside, several steps to the granny’s one.
‘What do you want for dinner tonight?’
The sun was going down and it looked like it had been a long day.
‘I want fried shrimp, and fried potatoes, and vegetables…’ the child answered in her babyish burble, ‘…and meat.’
‘Meat, really? On top of all that?’
‘Yes. I want meat - little, human, baby meat. Baby meat would be delicious!’
You see this is why I can never see myself having kids. They go and say stuff like this right out in the open for everyone to hear. Lord knows I said and did enough as a child to shame my parents. But that’s a blog for another day.
This kid’s granny was just great. She totally played along, all gentle with ‘Really?’ and ‘So you’d like that would you?’ and ‘Is that so?’
She left her granddaughter’s burgeoning self free to explore the boundaries of its little universe. With her, this kid was free to challenge and experiment and form her own moral compass.
I’ve read that children’s play is almost universally violent and gory, but usually not a cause for worry. It’s supposed to be a perfectly natural and necessary part of growing up to be a normally functioning member of society.
Had I been looking after the rugrat, though, I think I would have totally freaked out.
As a guardian, how are you supposed to know where healthy stops and crazy begins? Pulling the head off a Barbie Doll? Skewering slugs on a stick to fling at unsuspecting siblings? Tying other siblings to beds with ropes and leaving them forgotten in their room with panic their only companion?
One whiff of infanticide and I’d have had that girl down the nearest mental clinic faster than you can say ‘The fruit of my loins may be the next Jeffrey Dahmer.’
This little episode reminded me of the funniest ever comment from my friend and former co-worker, A.
Now friends would agree that she doesn’t give off the most outwardly maternal of vibes.
So when the topic of child rearing came up, we were all a little surprised to hear her declare,
‘I love babies.’
‘No, I do. I love them…’


‘…but I couldn’t eat a whole one.’

Baby’s First Haiku (Only 1st part’s in Japanese)

Click to hear the cicadas's song

アイルランドには蝉がいないから、帰国したら、この記録したオーディオは貴重な思い出になるだろう。

いつもこの鳴き声を聞いたら　「きっと、日本の夏だ.！」と僕は思います。

今朝、代官山で蝉を聞いて急に感動して俳句を作ろうと思った。

どうぞ読んでください。始めての俳句だから批判しないでください!!

立ち木から

蝉の鳴き声

夏は詩（うた）

俳句を英語に訳して同じく五七五の三句になった。よかったじゃないですか!!!

From where the trees stand

The song of the cicadas

Summer’s a poem

Sorry for that first bit was all in Japanese. I’m trying to challenge myself and make this a bilingual blog.

Today, was a great day. One of those days where I fall in love with living in Japan all over again.

I was walking in Daikanyama, one of my favourite areas in the centre of Tokyo. It’s a bit like Paris with a Japanese twist. Lots of fashionable people and places, cool cafes and restaurants, and tree-lined streets hiding wonderful new discoveries.

Anyway, I passed this park and all of a sudden paid attention to the beautiful singing of the cicadas. I guess because my mind has been on going home of late, I suddenly thought, ‘You know I’m really going to miss this whenever I leave Japan. This sound is just Japanese summer to me.’

I was actually all moved and for the first time in my life got the inspiration to write a poem. I swear this has never happened to me before. I though Mr O’Leary’s (R.I.P.)tyrannical English classes when I was twelve had cured me of any artistic bent.

But I went to a great little coffee shop, got a beer (for Dutch courage) sat in the window and had my first ever Haiku composed in about ten minutes. My father would be so proud. Who knew that under all the pragmatic cynicism beat the sensitive heart of a poet.

I’m actually really proud of myself, too. Why? Not just because of the poem itself, but because when I was translating it to English I found a way to keep the original meaning and the correct meter : A Haiku should be a three-line poem with a five-syllable, seven-syllable, five-syllable pattern.

Would somebody please give me a translating job? Stat. Who cares if I’m not qualified: I rock!

So if you look back up the top you can see it in bold in English. For those who are interested, here is the phonetics for the Japanese version:

Ta-chi-ki-ka-ra

Se-mi-no-na-ki-go-e

Na-tsu-wa-u-ta

The 80s are back: Nooooooo!!!!

Today I was walking through Daikanyama, one of the trendier areas of Tokyo. I came across this display in a window.

S. in Dublin, if you are reading this, I saw it and immediately thought of you.

You’re going to be opening your own high-end fashion boutique soon, right?

Don’t you think a belted, grey flannel, knickerbocker jump-suit is just what the Irish market is calling out for.

Want me to ship it?

Oh Lordy!

Okay. I am now chewing on a rusk and researching adult pampers on eBay.

Theme tune to BOSCO!

P.S. Can some musically inclined person please set this track to a kickin' beat and make it a huge club anthem. Actually, check that. It's surely already been done. I am nothing if not PO-MO.

I thought I knew them so well

OMG I can't believe I found this. Does anyone else remember it? It's the first 'pop' (?) song I remember making any sort of impact on me. Well, I was only 10! Not that my taste has improved very much since then. Something to which many of you could attest.

The thing is, Elaine was prolly my age when this was recorded and yet she looks so old. Sadly, that's almost certainly something grandchildren will be saying in the future when they look at pictures of me from now.

'But she is just such a potato actress....I mean, petite actress, petite actress.' (Quote?)

And who ever knew Barbara Dickson was a trannie.

Oh and those stupid fake mics they always used to have to hold on TOTP. At least the two old pros (no pun intended - well maybe not for Babs) are kind of pretending to sing into them. I remember some acts whose lip-synching was so bad the actual equipment and their mouths new only the briefest of acquaintances.

But lads, I seriously have a problem. Somebody take my youtube away from me before I go looking for episodes of 'Wanderly Wagon' or the marvellous Slighty Bonkers from 'Forty Coats.' I'm one childhood flashback away from completely regressing to a childhood state.

As it is, I'm already foetal and sucking on my thumb... but that's just for kicks.

Oh, I had to say that to balance out the heavy, PC stuff that was going on on this blog yesterday.

A note on diversity

In the interests of full disclosure, the last entry has just been slightly edited.

I had made a comment about Dublin being 'knacker' ridden.

I am ashamed to have used this term.

My sister gently and very appropriately pointed out that this is not a slur against young people involved in delinquency or bad behaviour. It is a slur against an ehtnic group in Ireland (the travelling community), and as such should never be used.

I apologize and promise to try harder to think about what I say in the future.

I really admire my sister, her friends, and colleagues who are fiercely careful to embrace and celebrate diversity in the words and deeds.

I want to be like them and promise to make more of an effort in the future.

I love words - they are my life - and I know the power they hold, for good and bad.

Again, sorry.

Also, I'm happy to receive any other editorial comment.

The unquestioned life is a life unlived.

The angst has abated

Things are pretty much back to normal again after my recent battle with homesickness.

A few things came together over the last few days to snap me back into shape.

First off, I took concrete steps to research coming home. So many negatives overwhelmed me - the hassle, the cost, the bitter realisation all my qualifications are out of date, the time and effort required to re-skill. I guess the skanger-ridden, expensive hole reminder didn’t hurt either (thanks, H., you got my back).

It all made my simple little existence here seem much better by comparison. It also drove home to me that, no matter how much I miss my family and friends, I want to be able to return to Ireland saying, ‘I am…’ or ‘I have…’ Not, ‘I worked towards…’ or ‘I’m almost…’

The second thing that brought me some clarity was going shopping. When I buy clothes, I tend to idealise how great these new things are going to make me look / act / feel. Then, I come home, put them on, and it’s always a disappointment. Nothing ever looks quite how I imagined it. I never capture in reality the buzz the things gave me when they were just an idea.

So, too, with moving home. I tend to build up some big life change as the solution to all my problems. ‘If I just go home, I’ll never feel lonely / bored / dissatisfied again.’ ‘Going home will stop me living as if my life is on pause.’ ‘One more clean slate and I’ll get everything right this time. No more screw-ups!

Of course, it’s all rubbish. Even if, in one fell swoop, I could solve all the problems I have banging around in my head, I’d still just get home and make up a whole bunch of new ones. That’s life, right!

I have to remember that my life is a journey and I must focus on the course and not the destination. (Please feel free to stick your fingers down your throats at this point. I’m one Hallmark sentiment away from drowning in the gushing waters of my profound self-analysis and discovery.)

But really, more than anything else, what helped get me back on track is the good people I have all over the world who care about me.

Many people listened to me whine, gave me sound counsel and advice and helped take my drama-queen ass back off the ledge.

Life is too short for pointless navel gazing. Rather than fussing and moaning or fantasising and idealising, I’m going to use my thinking time productively.

Some of the best advice I got was to really think about what makes me happy and make a career out of that. Being a smart aleck, I was like, ‘Well, I need to spend the rest of my life drinking coffee and watching TV all day.’

‘Ah yes,’ came the wise reply, ‘but could you do that eight hours a day every day for a month?’

Good point - if my recent TV marathons have taught me nothing else, it’s that too much of a good thing can lead to headaches, tired eyes and bedsores.

So, as an exercise, I’m going to try and make a list of times when I have been really happy, and times I have been really sad and see what directions these observations might lead me in.

Maybe I’ll let you know how I’m doing later on.